


standing on the borderline

by allhalethekings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Detective!Stiles, M/M, Mafia!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allhalethekings/pseuds/allhalethekings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hit me up at: <a href="http://hales-republic.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> // <a href="http://twitter.com/halesrepublic">twitter</a>. </p>
<p>Send me prompts, flail with me over Hoechlin's eyes, let's be friends - the whole shebang.</p></blockquote>





	standing on the borderline

In retrospect, Stiles should have known better. He’s a Sheriff’s kid for fuck’s sake! And if that isn’t enough, he’s a Jr. Detective rising steadily in the ranks, on track to be the Captain of his own unit within the next seven years, if he played his cards right.

He definitely should have known better.

Truth be told, he can’t even remember when everything changed; when Derek Hale stopped being just an assignment to him.

If he thinks hard enough, maybe it was when he first ‘bumped’ into Derek at The Triskelion, the classy, high-society bar that all the cops were so sure the Hales ran as a front to their side businesses. Or maybe it was when Derek had bought him a drink, a wolfish smirk curling on his lips, eyes glinting with mischief. Hell, it could have been when he’d taken Stiles home, stripped him methodically yet gently before absolutely ruining Stiles for everyone else.

The next morning, Stiles had woken up to Derek curled around his body like he belonged there and he’d stared up at the ceiling because he was the idiot cop who’d taken the Devil to bed.

It was the start of a long undercover operation and one that Stiles had ruined almost right off the bat. Ever single move was calculated by his handler, by the police force behind him, and he’d ruined everything by falling in love with his mark. Of course, the lead investigators of the case had been happy that their plan of making Stiles a trusted member of Derek’s circle had been made exponentially easier when Derek had begun to fall in love with him.

If he closes his eyes, Stiles can still see the betrayed, wide-eyed expression Derek had given him when he’d been handcuffed and dragged out of their home that they’d moved into not weeks before the arrest happened. As soon as it had clicked in his brain, Derek’s face shuttered down, his mouth twisting, like he couldn’t believe he didn’t see this coming.

“Stiles?”

“Hm?” he asks, blinking blearily at Lydia. She gives him an unimpressed look, pushing the notepad in front of him.

“I need you to sign this.”

Stiles stares at the yellow legal notepad in front of him, a pen sitting innocuously on top. He looks back up at Lydia and there must be something on his face away because Lydia’s face softens and she gets up, crossing the break room to shut the doors and drawing the blinds.

“You’re hesitating,” she says, sitting across him. “And I bet I know why.”

Stiles gives a humourless laugh, runs a hand down his face. He hasn’t slept in days.

“You’re Lydia. Of course you know why.”

“I know why because I know you and your heart,” she corrects easily. “You know what you’re giving up, right?”

“What happened - it’s not - this isn’t on him,” Stiles says, tired. He stares at the notepad again, where his own handwriting stares back at him. He doesn’t have to read what he’s signing; he wrote it.

“He’s Derek Hale,” Lydia argues, narrowing her eyes. “Do you know how many people he’s killed? How many bodies in Manhattan are missing because we can’t find them? How many families out there have had to bury empty coffins because we _still_ can’t find those bodies?”

“He was under duress, we both know that,” Stiles murmurs, glancing up at her.

“Do we?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he stresses. This time, it’s Stiles who narrows his eyes at Lydia.

Lydia’s look could cut glass. “He’s thirty and a shot caller. Let’s just start with that. Do you have any idea how unheard of that is?”

Stiles stays silent, because yes, this point goes to Lydia. She reaches out, places a hand on top of his softly, and squeezes it.

“Stiles, I can’t do anything about this, if you choose to back out of it. Most of the case we’ve built on Hale is built from your testimony, from the evidence that you’ve gathered, and there’s no doubt that his indictment will rest on your testimony. His lawyers would tear me apart if I put you on the stand and you can’t deliver the testimony in a believable way,” Lydia states.

Stiles nods. They fall quite for a moment.

“The only thing,” Lydia starts and Stiles’s eyes jump to her because he knows that tone. She gives him a considering gaze before leaning closer to him despite the fact that the break room is empty save for them. Out of habit, he does the same. “The only thing that might work is if you convince Derek to give up Peter.”

“Get Derek to turn state?”

Lydia shrugs, a small smile on her cherry lips. “Peter Hale has been the focal point of numerous state-level and now, federal investigations. He’s a much bigger fish than Derek.” She leans back, her smile turning cold. “You get me Peter and I can get your boy to walk.”

* * *

Stiles knock on the door of the last interview room but doesn’t wait for a reply before he opens it and steps inside. Two pairs of eyes turn to him but he only looks back at one.

“I need the room,” Stiles murmurs to his partner. Kira opens her mouth to say something but shuts it quickly and nods. She gathers all the papers and photographs from the table and leaves the room. Stiles coughs and finally steps in far enough to close the door behind him. It’s then that he turns towards Derek as he sits down on the opposite side of the table.

Maybe he’s expecting Derek to say something, anything really, but he stays quiet. Just looks at Stiles like all of this is a big joke, like Stiles is just a big joke. Like Kira, Stiles opens his mouth but closes it, not knowing how to start anything. Derek just tilts his head, jutting his chin out almost defiantly, but still says nothing.  

Nonetheless, Stiles steels himself and proposes Lydia’s plan. “I’ve talked to Lydia Martin and she’s agreed that if you turn state’s evidence on your uncle for all the crime he’s committed, then it is highly likely that you can get immunity.” He waits for Derek to say something but there’s nothing. “You can walk, Derek. Right now you’re looking at 25 to life. It’s a good deal,” Stiles adds desperately.

From the full two-and-a-half years of being undercover in this operation and of being close to Derek, there’s one thing Stiles has known. Derek can’t go to prison. There’s an itch under his skin that dictates how important it is for Derek to take the deal. Despite knowing full well what Derek’s done, and what he’s capable of, Stiles is also well aware of how kind and generous Derek is. He’s gotten a front seat to seeing Derek treat his nieces like princesses, to seeing Derek talk treat Isaac and Erica like they were his family and constantly checking on them to make sure their foster parents weren’t abusing them, to seeing Derek help Boyd financially so he could support his family of five.

He sighs before reaching out and flicking a button on the small black recorder sitting in the middle of the table. Derek follows his motion, his face remains blank.

“Derek—,” Stiles barely gets out before Derek leans forward suddenly, eyes narrowed. Stiles draws back almost immediately and then realizes how ridiculous it might have looked to whomever was watching on the other side of the mirror.

“Tell me something, _Detective_ ,” Derek snarls, quietly. “I’ve been meaning to ask. You coming into the Triskelion and letting me buy you a drink. Was that part of the plan?”

Hesitantly, Stiles nods. As much as he wants to, Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek because he deserves to know the truth and he deserves to know it without Stiles avoiding eye contact like a coward.

“And then sitting and talk to me for hours?” Another nod. “And then going home with me?” A shrug this time. Because no, that hadn’t been part of a plan. That was just Stiles being partly curious whilst toying with a dangerous line and partly accelerating the goal of gaining Derek’s trust.

“And then—“

“And then running into you again and again,” Stiles continues, his voice dry. “Flirting with you. Asking you out on a date. Staying up and talking to you for hours on end. Learning all that I could about your past. Learning about your family. Learning about why you do what you do. Earning your trust. Making you believe that I was who I said I was. Making—“

“Making me fall in love with you,” Derek finishes sardonically, hands clenching into fists on the table. Stiles freezes, stares at him, slack-jawed. Derek gives him a cold smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, does that come as a surprise? I’d have thought that was what you were working yourself up for, right? Tell me something, _Detective_ Stiles Stilinski,” Derek spits, like the title is poisonous. “Was any of it real? Any of what you felt to me? Any of what you _said_ you felt for me?”

“Yes,” Stiles confesses immediately, attention snapping to him. “All of it was real, believe me. Every time I told you I love you, every time we held each other, every time I told you something about my mom, every time I let you take me apart in bed and put me back together, all of it. I’m not lying, Derek.”

“It’s funny, the more you say I should believe you, the less I actually do,” Derek scoffs.  

Stiles’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. “I was just doing my job. I was doing my job to bring down Derek Hale, the shot caller,” he says. Stiles fidgets with his fingers under the table. “I wasn’t expecting Derek Hale, the person.”

Derek snorts. “That’s a pretty line. Did that beautiful redhead write it for you so you can gain my trust again?”

“Strawberry blonde,” Stiles corrects, almost on instinct. “Derek, everything I told you, everything I felt for you, all of that was - _is_ \- real.”

“It’s cute you think that’s going to work,” Derek scoffs, looking behind him at the two-way mirror. “I stopped believing a word that came out of your mouth when your partner slammed me against the wall of _our_ home, handcuffed me behind my back, and dragged me out all the while congratulating you on a job well done.”

Stiles hesitates before taking out the gun strapped to his waist and placing it on the table. Again, Derek follows his actions like a hawk. Next, Stiles leans over the table carefully and slides the key for the handcuffs into them and flicking them open before moving back in his seat. He motions to the cuffs and Derek watches him, eyes narrowed, all the while sliding the cuffs off his wrists.

“Do you trust me now?” Stiles asks.

“Not a chance in hell,” is the reply. Stiles nods because he expected that.

“I need you to testify against Peter,” Stiles repeats, pleadingly. “Please, Derek. You can hate me all you want but don’t hate me by condemning yourself. There are people out there who need you, people who would care if you weren’t around anymore because you were locked up.”

“Just people?”

“And a Jr. Detective,” Stiles says quietly, honestly.

“He’s my uncle,” Derek replies instead, looking away.

“If the tables were turned, would be do the same? Would Peter Hale be just as loyal to you?”

“Yes,” Derek says defiantly.

Stiles snorts, calling bullshit. “You and I both know that’s not the case. If Peter was in your place and I gave him the same deal, he’d give you up so fast I’d almost get whiplash.”

Derek glares at the table in front of him but doesn’t argue against that. He looks up at Stiles for an instance before staring back at the table, lips pursed in contemplation. Finally, he speaks.

“What do you need to know?”

* * *

The next six months are slow and painful. Because Lydia is a saint and had come through with what she had promised Stiles - if she got Peter, Derek got his freedom - it meant that both Stiles and Derek had to sit for multiple interviews while they were asked the same questions in different words over and over again.

On the one hand, Stiles gets it because Lydia needs this case to be solid before Peter even gets arrested but on the other hand, he just wants out. Every time he sees Derek, it feels like a painful blow to his gut. It’s agonizing how much it hurts to see Derek look at him like he means nothing, like he’s just another face in a sea of faces on a busy Manhattan street.

Slowly but surely, Stiles can see the case coming together. It’s no surprise when a month later, he sees Peter Hale in handcuffs.

Another six months later, Peter Hale is convicted on all charges and sent to prison for life. Sitting there in the courtroom, dressed in his best Armani suit, is when Stiles sees Derek Hale for the last time.

Until—

* * *

Stiles pushes into The Triskelion, his stomach churning all the while. The bar was one of the few places that had survived the police investigation and for good reason; Derek had owned the bar and as a tribute to his deceased parents, he’d made sure every single paper in the place, much less every drop of alcohol served, was entirely legit.

Almost at once, all the buzzing, the laughs, the conversation stop and Stiles finds himself the target of some fifty odd pairs of eyes, most of them regulars. He ignores the stares, walking in with the least amount of confidence he feels, as he tries to gauge where Derek might be. He barely gets to the bar before a hand stops him from walking farther and he looks up to see Boyd’s unimpressed face. Behind him, Isaac and Erica mirror his expression.

“I have to see him,” Stiles says quietly, turning back to Boyd. He doesn’t say much but he does remove his hand from Stiles’s chest in lieu of crossing his arms over his chest. “I need to talk to him.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Boyd says, head tilting towards the door. “It’s probably best that you leave now.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I want to talk to him. Five minutes. I’m not leaving until I get my five minutes.”

“I hear you’re not a cop anymore, Stilinski. And this bar is private property. So get the hell out or we’d be happy to do it for you,” Isaac chimes in, glaring at him but Stiles doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he stares at Boyd, whom he’s known to always be reasonable.

“Five minutes. And then I’ll leave, I swear,” Stiles promises. Boyd narrows his eyes at him, looking deeply at him like he’s trying to peer into his soul, before he offers a slight nod towards the back of the bar. Almost at once, Stiles releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding and the chatter in the bar starts up again.

“I’ll be counting the seconds,” Boyd warns, tapping on his watch. Stiles nods and walks to the back of the bar, sliding around the red velvet curtain that shielded the rest of the bar from a darkened, narrow hallway, at the end of which was a door. Stiles stops right outside the door and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he came here for and enters the room, seeing no reason to knock beforehand.

Derek looks up from where he’s hunched over the large mahogany table, his hands faltering as they write out something. It’s been a while since he’s seen Derek, almost a year-and-a-half since his arrest and six months since Peter was convicted of his crimes, and in that time, Derek’s hardly changed. There’s not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his outfit. After all these years, Derek still looks breathtaking as ever. The crinkles by his eyes seem deeper and perhaps Derek seems lighter as a person but other than that, he remains unchanged.

“I only have five minutes,” Stiles says, coming to a stop as he reaches the desk. His heart thuds and thuds inside his chest, his fingers twitching slightly by his sides.

Derek leans back in his chair. “You don’t even need one. Get out,” he answers, waving towards the door but Stiles shakes his head resolutely.

“Listen, let me explain, Der—“

“Explain what, Stiles?” Derek asks, rising out of his chair. “How you broke my heart? How you lived a lie with me for almost three—“

“None of it was a lie!” Stiles exclaims and it’s pathetic how eager he sounds. “ _None_ of it.”

Derek walks around the desk, stopping only when he’s less than a hair’s width away from Stiles. He leans forward, tilting his head just so his lips graze Stiles’s ear. “Do you know how it felt? I was falling in love with you. I trusted you. And you played me like a goddamn fool.”

Stiles shakes his head, eyes closing at the warmth he feels from Derek’s proximity. His hands make aborted movements to touch Derek but he knows he’s not allowed, not yet. He stays still, not wanting to make any movement that might take him away from Derek.

“Everything was real. It was real for me. I pulled out when I did because I knew if I got anything more on you, you wouldn’t be able to get out with full immunity. I almost jeopardized years’ worth of work and evidence because I fell in love with you,” Stiles whispers, breath hitching, as Derek places his hands on Stiles’s hips. He buries his head into Stiles’s throat, making Stiles throw his head back to give him more room. “I ne—fuck, Derek—you have to believe me.”

“Why’s that?” Derek hums into his throat, fingers crawling under Stiles’s shirt. “Why do I have to believe you?”

Stiles leans back, stares directly into Derek’s beautiful kaleidoscope eyes, and takes one of his hands, placing it on his chest, right above his heart. “Because I know you want to. You have every right to stay at an arm’s distance from me. You have every right to push me out of this bar, out of your life, but we both know you won’t. And we both know this because Boyd would never have let me step a foot past him if you didn’t want me to.”

Stiles lets go of Derek’s hand, instead places them on Derek’s face, holding him close. “I _am_ sorry for everything I did. I’m here now because I haven’t slept for the past year and a half because you weren’t next to me. I haven’t been able to set foot near an arcade because I couldn’t take going there without you. I haven’t—fuck—I haven’t felt like _me_ in all this time because I realized you brought out parts of me that I didn’t know I had.”

Stiles pulls Derek closer so they can rest their foreheads closer and takes a shuddering breath. “I’m in love with you, Derek Hale. And I need you to believe in me—believe in _us_ —“

He breaks off as Derek kisses the rest of the words away. Stiles gives a wet laugh, hanging on as tight as he can, scared to let go in fear that if he does, he won’t ever get Derek back. Derek’s lips are just as soft yet commandeering as he remembers. Derek kisses with an intensity that Stiles never understood, kisses him like he’s pouring every bit of his heart into it, silently telling Stiles everything he’s wanted to say. It’s the toe-curling, hair-raising, sparks-flying kiss Stiles always read about and heard ballads about.

“I love you,” Derek whispers against his lips. “If you ever—“

“Never ever,” Stiles denies, right away. “We’re going to be so good, Derek. This is going to be amazing—“

“It always was,” Derek answers, smiling. “We were always good.”

“Then we’ll be better,” Stiles promises, beaming back. “You and me.”

“You and me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at: [tumblr](http://hales-republic.tumblr.com) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/halesrepublic). 
> 
> Send me prompts, flail with me over Hoechlin's eyes, let's be friends - the whole shebang.


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